


The Recruiter

by MapToWhereIAlreadyAm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Adoption Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Jedi recruitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapToWhereIAlreadyAm/pseuds/MapToWhereIAlreadyAm
Summary: Newly knighted Jedi Eskhara Bre wanted nothing more than to take her place among the galaxy's peacekeepers, only to find that her current responsibilities as a recruiter were as far from that life as Coruscant was from Wild Space.That was until she encountered Caleb Dume...





	The Recruiter

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Pom_Rania for proofreading and title brainstorming!
> 
> Concrit and constructive feedback welcomed and appreciated.

Eskhara Bre, Jedi Knight and Recruiter for the Order, hurried through the Temple halls. The Reassignment Quarter was on the far side from the refectory where she had been sitting down to the evening meal. A family — a hopeful parent or two with a promising youngling — was waiting there.

This wasn’t the typical protocol, to arrive so late in the evening. They should’ve made a screening appointment. An appointment where the Nautolan Knight would ask a series of questions, take a blood sample, and schedule a follow-up visit. If they had made it past the reception desk, they probably weren’t up on the proper etiquette for such things.

Eskhara, newly knighted three months prior, was still learning the in’s and out’s of her job assignment. And what she was finding was disappointing. Temple-based recruiting wasn’t the typical method of admittance for younglings.

Mostly they were discovered through the Republic’s birth health records. These younglings were monitored during their early years, so the Order understood the true extent of the child’s capabilities. Plus it gave the Jedi liaisons several years of rapport with the child’s parent (the liaisons being recruiters who had more experience than she did). This relationship was critical in engendering a parent’s trust in the Order and the future of their child.

Children might also be found directly by a Jedi, nearly always a Master, who sensed their presence in the Force. A needle in the proverbial Bantha fodder, but it did happen. _Of course, to find children in this manner a Jedi needed to be out in the galaxy and not stuck in the Temple,_ she thought ruefully.

The final method for admittance was where Eskhara came into the recruiting process. Parents could bring their children to the Temple for testing. But she was finding that this never actually happened. Or rather it occurred quite frequently. Children were brought in, but these younglings were rarely accepted into the Order. They were short on actual abilities, and the parents were long on questionable motives.

Distracted, Eskhara took the corner at a rush and stopped short of colliding with her former master, a tall Chagrian woman. “Master Ute!” she exclaimed.

“Eskhara,” the Jedi Master smiled, stepping lightly to catch herself. Composed as always. “Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry, I should have been— I was —” hearing the defensiveness in her voice, Eskhara pressed her lips together, then sighed. “I’m on my way to meet with a prospective family.”

The smile on her former master’s face lessened. Was that disapproval? Or understanding? She could never tell. Ute had never given any sign that she was anything but proud of her former padawan but it was hard not to wonder.

“Who is it tonight? A devout family? No, the ambitious, perhaps?” Ute teased, but Eskhara’s cheeks burned. Did everyone else already know that a temple recruiter was little more than a glorified screening agent?

Stifling her irritation, she plastered a smile on her face. “The nocturnally inclined,” Eskhara quipped, still thinking about the evening meal she was missing. She dipped her head in a bow and hurried onwards.

The master in charge of recruiting had assured her that the skills learned here were transferable. Previous temple recruiters had gone on to become some of the Order’s best negotiators. Eskhara had been uncertain but taken the assignment anyway. It was unglamorous. She wanted to save lives. To go forth and make a difference. Not ask form-questions and master the skills of letting parents down gently.

As she approached the main receiving desk, Eskhara finally slowed her rush. The desk was in a central rotunda of the reassignment quarter, one of a few places the public could access the Temple. The evening receptionist was a friendly Sullustan.

“Why did you call me?” she asked without preamble. “Didn’t you tell them to make an appointment?” She leaned against the desk, her lightsaber hitting its edge. _How long had it been since she had used it for anything other than daily forms practice?_

The man held up his hands. “Eskhara, I did. But they parked themselves in a room and refused to leave,” he said, glancing over her shoulder towards one of the receiving chambers. “What should I have done?”

“Call the guards! Not me.”

“I didn’t think I should be the one to make that decision,” he said, dropping his head.

She pursed her lips. The receptionist was right. He was staff, not Jedi. If anyone was going to turn them away, it should be her. It was her job after all.

“You want me to call a guard for you?” he asked, pulling a comlink out.

Eskhara chewed on the corner of her mouth, considering.

“No. You’re right. I’ll talk with them,” she finally said and gave the man a wan smile. “I’m here. And this is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Even when you know they are here just to say that they’ve been inside the Temple?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes. Even then.” Or maybe especially then.

She reached past the man, and pulled out a small bag of toys from under the counter. It contained blocks mostly but there was a vaguely humanoid doll of indeterminate species — she could never tell if it was hair or tentacles — and a toy speeder bike plus a couple of palm-sized podracers. She tucked her lightsaber into the front placket of her inner robe, knowing how it tended to distract younglings, then, straightening her shoulders, she strode through the double doors.

The sun was low on the horizon, but the receiving rooms were high in the Temple and still held the last of Coruscant’s light. Filtered through the slats of the blinds, it created alternating bands of shadows and blinding glare. The room was sparsely furnished, save for several meditation platforms, but it still took Eskhara a moment to locate the family in the gloom. Only a pair. A mother, her belly swollen far along in pregnancy, and a youngling.

As a Nautolan, Eskhara’s tentacles could detect pheromones and what they were telling her augmented what her eyes were seeing — the low-grade anxiety that had been stewing in the room as the pair waited. The tall woman shifted back and forth on her feet, and Eskhara made a snap judgment about why the pair were here. Her master was wrong. It wasn’t the devout or the ambitious tonight.

Recruits found by the Order were almost always the real deal. A midi-chlorian count in infancy, while not definitive, was correlated with an aptitude for Force-wielding in later life. Or a youngling was so strong in the Force it was hard for an attuned Jedi to miss. But the ones brought to the Temple by their parents rarely were admitted. It was unusual for these younglings to pass the tests that the Order set out for them.

One of Eskhara’s responsibilities was to screen them before she wasted a master’s time on hopeful, albeit questionably, motivated parents. What she was also learning was that the families that brought these hopefuls in almost always fell into one of three categories.

The devout. The ambitious. Or the desperate.

The pair in front of her fell in the latter category.

A faded, hooded cloak obscured the woman's face, its edges fraying, while a single long dark braid peeked out, falling across her chest. Her tunic and trousers were unrefined with minimal detailing. Her rings were hammered bands. The child’s clothing was unadorned, with holes in the knees. A simple canvas rucksack lay on the floor next to their sandaled feet. The lack of sophistication suggested they weren’t from Coruscant. This was unusual — the poor she encountered were typically local families.

Eskhara sighed then took a moment to be mindful of her annoyance. It wasn’t their fault that they lived in poverty. And she was honored to represent the Order as a beacon of hope for those in need.

So when she smiled, she generated warmth.

“Welcome. Won’t you have a seat?”

She gestured to one of the meditation platforms in the center of the room. The receiving rooms were used for all sorts of Jedi business. Most non-Order visitors found the cushions awkward, unsure where to put their feet. But the pregnant woman looked relieved, probably given how long it had taken for Eskhara to get here. She slowly lowered herself on the cushion, seemingly at ease sitting cross legged. Her lap disappeared beneath her belly, and she shifted to make space for the child next to her.

Eskhara settled into a meditation pose opposite the pair, taking a moment to settle her robes before leaning forward into a practiced expression of polite, quiet interest.  

“Welcome to the Temple. I am Eskhara Bre, Jedi Knight, and a recruiter for the Order.”

The woman nodded, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m Min. Min Dume. I was told that you accept younglings — Force-sensitive younglings. To train and care for them, so that they might become Jedi.” The words came out in a rush as if they had been rehearsed. Her accent wasn’t Core Worlds, but Eskhara couldn’t pinpoint it beyond that.

Eskhara’s smile lessened by a degree.

“Yes, I am the one responsible for screening admissions, but we don’t take just anyone. They need to be of the proper age — not too old or too young — and they, of course, need to be strong in the Force.”

“How old exactly?”

Eskhara sat back. “Well, it varies by species, but the ideal age for humans is around four years. The requirements can be waived, but that rarely happens and needs the approval of the Council.”

“Caleb will be four soon,” the woman said a little too brightly.

Eskhara wished she could see the human's face better beneath the hood. She shifted her attention to the boy.

He was studying her in return. His nose was running, and he sniffled while looking at her, his eyes curious and unguarded. He had the same russet colored skin as his mother, while his eyebrows were oddly arched, even by her non-human standards. His hair still had the wispy fineness of babyhood, brushing the back of his shoulders, the ends curling up. It was light brown but would almost certainly darken with age, although probably never matching the near black of his mother’s. The long hair made it difficult to determine his age, but somehow she doubted he was four.

“Hello, Caleb,” Eskhara said solemnly.

“Who that?” he whispered as he clung to his mother, never taking his eyes — _were they blue or green?_ — off of Eskhara.

“This is the Jedi I told you about, Caleb. You remember when we talked about visiting them?”

He perked up at that. “You help people?” he asked.

She gave him her first genuine smile of the evening. “Yes. Jedi help people.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy the boy.

“That’s good,” he declared. He appeared to be warming up. Fidgeting, he rose to his knees to be taller next to his mother.   

Eskhara glanced at Min. She was looking at her child with sadness. The recruiter could feel it like another presence in the room.

The devout families were hard to work with. Eskhara was pragmatic by nature, and their zealotry got under her skin. They took the rejection of their child by the Order as a mark against their piety.

The ambitious families were worse. They knew the stories and seemed to think their own lives would be grander if there was a Jedi in the family. Ideas of what their child should be got in the way of seeing their actual child. More than one parent left in a huff when she informed them the Jedi wouldn’t be inviting the youngling to join the Order.

Both these groups were quick to find a spark of genius in their child and then eager to give them over to gain the prestige attached to it.

But it was the desperate families who were the hardest to work with. The desperate parent (and it was almost always a single mother) was so despairing of their child’s prospects that they would try anything, including seeing non-existent abilities in their younglings. The circumstances were all different but depressingly familiar. A lack of resources to raise a child, whether from poverty or other hardships, or a social structure that punished the parent for being a parent.

On the one hand, the question was unbearable even to consider — how could a parent ever give up their child for another to raise, no matter what the cause? On the other, she already knew the answer.

Love. Love was always the answer.  

Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she focused on the woman in front of her. “So you would like to test Caleb?”

“Testing?” Min tore her eyes away from Caleb. “What do you mean? Caleb is a Force-wielder. I’ve seen him. He doesn’t need to be tested.”

“Well, not everyone who is sensitive in the ways of the Force is destined to become a Jedi,” she said gently. “Knowing the capabilities of a child requires a blood screening and several tests to ascertain for sure his abilities. Plus the recommendation of a Master.”

Min’s shoulders collapsed. “But I thought you took anyone… I thought he would be taken care of…” Her voice trailed off.

Eskhara studied her hands on her lap. This was the hard part of her job.

Swallowing, she said a little too cheerfully, “Let’s try the screening questionnaire, shall we?”

The woman nodded while rubbing her belly, as Caleb played with the ties of her cloak. "Alright.”

“His name is Caleb…?” Eskhara prompted.

“Dume. Caleb Dume.” Min’s voice faltered, then she swallowed and found some inner strength as she spelled out Caleb’s name for Eskhara’s benefit. “Dorn-usk-mern-esk.”

“His species is human, and age is…?”

Eskhara paused waiting for Min to supply the answer. When she didn’t, Eskhara continued, “...four?”

“Yes.”

“Four?” An edge of disbelief crept into her voice.

“I know he’s a bit small for his age. Maybe with more food…”

Eskhara cursed inwardly. She wasn’t here to grill the poor woman. Either the kid was Force-sensitive, or he wasn’t. No need to make this any harder than it should be.

“And you are Min Dume?” At the woman’s nod, Eskhara continued, “Caleb’s birth mother and legal guardian?”

“Yes.”

“And his father?”

The woman hesitated for a moment before replying, “Throse Lone.”

Her response got Caleb’s attention, still playing with the ties. “Throse?” he asked looking up into her hood.

“Yes. She wants to know about your father. It’s alright.” Min moved to stroke the boy’s back in reassurance, before thinking better of it and dropping her hand. The boy nodded but didn’t resume playing with the cloak’s closure.

Eskhara watched the exchange. Caleb calling his father by the man’s given name felt odd.

Switching gears she leaned forward. “Caleb?”

He glanced at her but otherwise remained impassive.

“Do you like toys?”

“Toys?” he asked.

“Yes. You know, blocks or little pod racers?”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a few for him to see. Caleb didn’t speak but slid down off the meditation platform, torn between caution and curiosity. Only when he squatted in front of the sack and started pulling everything out did she turn her attention back to Min.  

“Is Throse Caleb’s birth father?”

Min’s lips pressed into a thin line before she shrugged.

Eskhara wasn’t sure whether to interpret that as a _no_ or an _unknown_ . She entered in _uncertain_. It wouldn’t be the first time a youngling’s paternity was unknown.

“But Caleb is full human?”

Eskhara continued at the woman’s nod, “Birth world?”

“Coruscant.”

Eskhara blinked. The woman replied too quickly, but she opted not to press her. She would take Caleb’s history, get a blood sample, then set up a follow-up appointment. When the midi-chlorian count came back low, she would let Min down with as much skill as the Force could grant her.

“Your birthplace?”

“Is this necessary? I mean, to have a record of all this?” Min asked.

Eskhara’s robes rustled as she shifted on her platform, considering the woman’s question. Her unease was expected given the situation. But there was an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint that made the tips of her tentacles twitch. Bringing the boy in under false pretenses would certainly explain the nagging sense of anxiety, but she suspected that wasn’t the whole story.

“It’s for the archives, and I assure you only Jedi who are authorized to have access to it can see those records. Your answers will be completely confidential.”

Min spoke into her lap, where her hands were spinning the rings on her fingers.  “Also, Coruscant.”

“And Throse’s?”

“I don’t know. He was a refugee, moved around because of the war. He had family problems. If he had a home, it was a long time ago. I’m sorry, I don’t know more.”

Finally, an answer that was honest. Too vague to be of much help, but honest.

“Is there a family history of Force-sensitivity?”

Eskhara caught a flash of brilliant blue in the shadows of the cloak, before Min dipped her head to look at Caleb again. The toys were strewn in a half circle in front of him. In between sniffles, he murmured soft noises that she assumed was language although she couldn’t place any of the words.

“A family history of Force-sensitivity?” Eskhara repeated.

“No,” Min said.

Eskhara stifled a sigh, wondering why this mother was being so cagey. If she was trying to get the Order to take her child, she wasn’t selling it very hard. Eskhara chewed on her lip, wondering if she should probe deeper, before deciding that getting the screening over with was all that was required. She asked the next question on her form, “Perhaps you can tell me why you think he’s Force-sensitive.”

As if she had been waiting for this question all along, Min began to speak. “Well, I know it sounds strange, but there is a stray tooka in our neighborhood...”

Eskhara nodded dismissively, her tentacles rippling with the motion. There was almost always a story about odd behavior with animals among both Force-sensitives and nons alike. She couldn’t conclude much from this except that children were naturally attuned to beings their size. That and pets were as quirky as younglings were.

“Anything else?” Eskhara asked, interrupting her, then mentally kicked herself as Min drew back frowning.

The woman was silent for a long moment, turning to look out the window. The light had gone from blazing orange to hushed purple, glittering with a million sources of artificial illumination, the day nearly extinguished.

Min worked her jaw for a moment, before finally speaking. “I hadn’t seen Caleb in a bit — having gotten busy with housework — so I went looking for him. I found him in the other room, climbing on a chair to get to a shelf. A shelf that held Throse’s stuff. He has a small collection of knives — four or five that he’s gathered over the years. I didn’t know Caleb knew about it.”

The boy had stopped talking to himself, although he kept playing with the toys.

“But apparently he did. I was afraid. And I got angry and yelled at him. I pulled him down. Yanked the chair so he wouldn’t be tempted to climb up again. In doing so, I hit the shelf. The knives flew up over my head and then came back down. Except they never hit me. When I looked up, they were hanging above me, spinning in place.”

Eskhara grew still. “Then what happened?”

“Throse came into the room and… It stopped. I moved out of the way, and they just dropped.”

“How often has something like this happened?”

“Once. That I know of.”

“When?”

“A couple of days ago.”

The boy’s curiosity and the woman’s anxiety lingered in the room. It was an incongruous combination, laced with something Eskhara’s tentacles couldn’t place.

Caleb had tired of the bag of toys and ran to his mother, using one knee to haul himself onto the meditation cushion. He clung to her, while she dipped her head to listen as he whispered. She frowned, then looked at Eskhara quizzically.

“He wants to know what you have in your pocket,” she said, shrugging.

Eskhara chuckled and patted her thighs. “I have nothing in my pockets, Caleb. No more toys. See?” She smoothed her robes against her legs so that he could see there was nothing hidden.

He shook his head, then took a step towards her and pointed.  

Min continued, “He said ‘it’s singing.' Do you have any idea what he means by that?”

A little finger pointed at her chest — the side of her tunic where her lightsaber was tucked away.

Eskhara blinked and reached into her robes. Caleb’s face lit up as she pulled out her weapon.

“Pretty sounds!”

“Do you… hear it?”

He nodded, a look of joy on his face.

The crystal in the saber called to Eskhara, like someone whispering her name. She could hear it now if she focused on it. Could it sound like music to someone without a strong grasp of language yet? To a young Force-sensitive?

Eskhara studied the youngling as if seeing him for the first time. Perhaps she was wrong about them.

Twisting the end of the weapon, she removed the power cell. The crystal was still in place, but it was disabled more effectively than a simple safety would have done. She gave it to Caleb, his eyes widening to a seemingly impossible size. Dropping to the floor in a characteristically youngling motion — awkwardness combined with grace — he began turning it over and over in his hands, before bringing it to his ear.

As his mouth pursed into a frown concentrating on whatever sounds only he could hear, Eskhara couldn’t deny what she was seeing. Her breathing deepened, and she paused, giving herself a moment to reconnect with the Force. In those quiet moments, she found the space between her thoughts. Between the routine and expectations. Between her wishes and assumptions. In the briefest caresses of the Force, she found clarity.

Standing suddenly, she turned to Min. “Listen, we typically ask you to make an appointment to meet with a master for further testing. But I want to check on something first.”

Min seemed taken aback but nodded. “Alright.”

Eskhara left through a side door, into a private antechamber, and pulled out her comlink, to check with Master Plo. She cursed when he didn’t respond until she remembered he was traveling this week.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi then. She had a special rapport with him; he would help her take care of this. She breathed in relief when he answered immediately. He seemed a bit perturbed by the unorthodoxy of the process but listened as she explained the situation. He couldn’t make it right now but agreed to find another master to meet the pair and would get back to her.

She chewed on her lower lip as she paced the small room waiting for the follow-up comm, worrying that she was being over dramatic. Having finally located a Force-sensitive youngling, she wanted an official confirmation, but the woman’s anxiety was making her jumpy. Of course, the master would have the final say, but somehow she knew this kid was destined to be a Jedi.

And something else was going on that she couldn’t put her finger on. She would have preferred to figure it out herself, but the skyline out the window was a glittering black now. Another hour of questions and the pair would need to wait until morning for a master’s approval.

She jumped when her comlink beeped. Master Windu. Eskhara was disappointed. He could be a stickler for the rules, but it was better than sending the pair away.

Taking a deep breath, she made her case. “I have a family here that should be tested immediately. I know I’m not supposed to jump to conclusions, but the youngling has true potential.” She grimaced. It sounded unconvincing when spoken out loud.

“I’m in transit now. You want to tell me why this can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I wish I could. I…I have a feeling about this pair. A sense of urgency, I suppose.”

“Eskhara, a feeling is not a compelling reason to test a youngling at such a late hour.”

Eskhara bit her tongue, to keep from retorting. She knew this. Yet here she was at the late hour trying to persuade a member of the council to forgo dinner for the desperate.

“Fortunately, for you, I’m due to arrive at the temple shortly. I’ll come to the reassignment quarter first so we can get a better look at this child.”

She let out her breath and pushed the door into the receiving room as she said, “Thank you, Master Windu. I realize it’s not the typical method but I…” The Nautolan trailed off as she took in the scene in front of her.

Caleb was in the middle of the room, playing with her lightsaber.

Alone.

Eskhara’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes searched the room until they found Min. She was standing in the doorway leading to the main hallway. Her hood had fallen away, revealing wet cheeks and blue eyes that would have been stunning if not for the dark bruise marring one. But it was the look of anguish on Min's face that made Eskhara suck in her breath.

She dimly heard Master Windu’s voice trying to get her attention on the comlink.

The noise drew Min’s attention, and she met Eskhara’s gaze for the briefest of moments before retreating. The murmur of the corridor silenced as the door slid shut.

Eskhara crossed the room with long strides, then staggered when her tendrils were assailed by the perfume of grief. Min was mourning. Mourning a child even while she had been sitting next to him.

Eskhara was already calling out by the time she reached the far door. “Min? Min!” The hallway was full despite the late hour. A gaggle of off-duty maintenance workers passed by heading to the public hangar and obscuring Eskhara’s view. Caleb’s mother had vanished.

She heard Windu’s voice. “Eskhara? What’s going on?”

Dazed she looked at the comlink. Her fingers curled around it, muting his voice. Taking a step into the corridor, she tried to process what had happened.

“Mama?” The voice was small and wavering.

Spinning, she saw Caleb watching her, the lightsaber in his hand. She stared back at him. His lip quivered as he picked up on her panic.

She brought the comlink to her mouth. “Sorry, I need to go! The mother left. Without her son.”

“I’ll be right there —” Master Windu's voice cut off as she switched the comlink off.

Crossing the room, she bent to pick up Caleb. He yelped as she lifted him.

“Sorry, little one,” Eskhara crooned, settling him on her hip.

The hallway, lined with statues, led to the public hangar where commuter shuttles waited. The day-shift staff were heading out for the evening while the night workers were coming in. Throngs of people were passing under the watchful eyes of long-dead Jedi.  

Eskhara looked up and down the corridor. There was only so many places Min could go. Deeper into the temple where the guards would stop her, back to the hangar, or into another receiving room. Some part of her was hoping Min just needed to use the refresher.

Caleb remained quiet, perched on her hip, eyes wide.

Spying the Sullustan receptionist, she ran to him.

“Min Dume — this boy’s mother? Did you see where she went to?”

“Um, no! She didn’t come this way.” The man's jowls jiggled as he replied.

Eskhara bit off a curse and turned towards the hangar. She ran, as fast as one could with a child on one’s hip. Caleb’s arms flapped with every step, the lightsaber still clutched in his hand.

Coming into the wide open spaces of the hangar wasn’t any better. At least three shuttles were present, their engines idling. The sounds bounced off the hard surfaces and backdraft created unpredictable gusts that made her robes billow about her. And it was far too crowded. Her eyes darted to a ship lifting off, before finding one still loading passengers, a sea of people between them.

She called out Min’s name over and over until her throat hurt, barely making herself heard over the throng. When a sob escaped Caleb's mouth, she stopped.  

Finally, she caught a glimpse of a green hood near the loading shuttle. Caleb’s mother was already on the boarding ramp before Eskhara could make her way through the jostling crowd.

“Eskhara!” Master Windu’s authoritative baritone cut through the din. She ignored him.

The hatch to the ship began to close. Eskhara shoved through the crowd, shielding Caleb with her body. But she couldn’t get to the doors in time. They closed with a clang and the click of the internal locking mechanisms engaging.

This shuttle couldn’t leave. She needed to get to Caleb’s mother. One doesn’t abandon a child. Caleb needed testing. And the Order needed answers.

Eskhara moved to the front of the ship and banged on the door to the cockpit. It resonated with a dull thud under her fist. She peered through the viewport then raised her hand to strike again. A small incongruous detail caught her eye and stopped her hand. A detail that had nothing to do with the shuttle and everything to do with the child in her arms.

It wasn’t the boy's eyes wide with fear or the way his shirt rode up as she clutched him. What she noticed was his skin. His belly was now exposed and an unnatural color bloomed across it.  She froze at the sight of the bruise. The same shade as his mother’s black eye.

Frantically she pulled at the front tie of Caleb’s shirt until his torso was fully revealed. The black-and-blue mark extended across his chest and shoulders.  

Eskhara stared in horror. In sudden understanding.

Min’s reluctance to answer the questions.

The unnamable emotion that swam around Min? Eskhara had thought it had been anxiety and grief. And it was. But there was also fear. Fear of someone.

Caleb’s step-father.

A casualty of war.

A man named Lone — a Mandalorian clan — a culture with a deep animosity of Jedi.

The bruises were fresh. Only a day or two old at most.

Caleb levitating the objects a few days ago.

Only to be interrupted by his father.

Eskhara pulled Caleb tighter to her as she made the connections.

“Can I help you?”

She spun to face the voice addressing her. The captain of the shuttle.

She opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to do or say.

“Master Jedi?” he asked expectantly.

“I’m not a Master,” she said softly, trying to understand what the Force required of her.

“Knight Bre!!” Windu’s voice was getting louder.

“I…I…” she stammered.

Glancing up, Eskhara found Caleb's mother, staring out the window of the shuttle at them. The human gave a slight shake of her head.

How could this be happening?

Love. The answer was always love.

Eskhara nodded slowly.

Keeping her eyes on Min, she addressed the pilot. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. My apologies for keeping you, Captain.”

Ignoring the man’s grumbles, Eskhara focused on Caleb, his eyes shining with tears. She gave him a small smile before wrapping her arms around him, wishing to block out the world. Was she comforting the boy or reassuring his mother, still watching from the shuttle?

They remained on the platform as the ship pulled away. A Nautolan Knight embracing a tiny human boy. She breathed into the boy’s hair, as the light of the shuttle took its place among the thousands of other glittering beacons. Eskhara’s helplessness echoed in Caleb’s whimpers. She had wanted to be a peacekeeper. To save people’s lives. But Eskhara never realized it would be like this. At the temple. With younglings. That the first life she might save would be a Jedi’s.

When Master Windu finally arrived, he found Eskhara standing with her arm tightly around the Order’s newest youngling.

**Author's Note:**

> I post writing updates and snippets semi-regularly on Tumblr as [MapToWhereIAlreadyAm.](http://maptowhereialreadyam.tumblr.com/)


End file.
